


something permanent

by missMARGARITAschuyler (blasphemyincarnate)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dramatic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blasphemyincarnate/pseuds/missMARGARITAschuyler
Summary: it’s the middle of the night, John Laurens can’t remember why he’s alive and Alexander Hamilton reminds him





	something permanent

**Author's Note:**

> ironically enough, it is the middle of the night and this is pretty bad but I read a thing and I guess it inspired me  
> so ignore the bad metaphor and pretend this was a lovely, meaningful oneshot about life please :)
> 
> and you might notice Alexander doesn’t call John by name during his little spiel - there’s a reason for that. if you struggle with the kind of thoughts of ‘why am I alive I don’t deserve this’ then I want you to take that paragraph for yourself. commit it to memory, write it down, or maybe just keep the fic to come back and reflect on occasionally. when you need it, that paragraph isn’t Alexander talking to John, it’s me (or whoever you want it to be) talking to you.

     John Laurens wakes up at 1:47 in the morning, the number flashing wildly from the clock on the nightstand. It twists, contorts. He shakes his head and tells himself he is dreaming. Like clockwork, he reached for his phone and opens Alexander’s contact. He types two words and three are replied. Scrolling up, it is repeated over and over, sometimes with months in between and sometimes with hours. 

**John > Alexander**

_Please help._

**Alexander > John**

_On my way._

Sometimes he hates himself for it, for being weak, for relying on Alexander to pull him out of the hole he inevitably falls into. Most of the time he does. Most of the time he pushes the feeling away and waits for someone to come help him, to convince him that the razor isn’t the answer. It doesn’t always work. He has the scars to prove it.

Alexander pushes his door open. He sits on the bed and holds John close. He asks, “What do you need tonight?” A warm caress. The words can’t help but feel accusatory, and suddenly John is uncomfortable. Alexander’s smart, he figures it out quickly. He kisses John’s cheek and says, “Let me help you.”

     A pause. “Alexander, why am I alive?” It’s not a shock to either of them. “Sometimes I wonder why any of us are, but most of the time I wonder ‘why me?’ because I deserve it the least.”

     Alexander is not surprised, just sad. He knows it’s an after effect of growing up with a father who screamed slurs and repeatedly told his children they’d amount to nothing. Sometimes it’s not the worse he does.

     “I don’t know why you are, but I know that you deserve it in every way possible. I don’t know what otherworldly being picked you from their collection of clay dolls to give life to, but  _God_ , I’m glad they did. I could go on and on forever about why, but it all boils down to one phrase - I love you. You’re amazing, and kind, and brave, and everything the greatest men and women in the world wish they could’ve been. You deserve every moment of life you’ve been given.”

     Silence. John leaned back against Alexander and smiled weakly. “Thank you.” It couldn’t convince him - it never did. But it held off the horde of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, like a thin shield that broke eventually. And when it did break, he could call for help and it would come. It would come and he would fight off the horde, maybe lessening it, even, and one day he’d be free.

     One day, he wouldn’t need the shields anymore. But he’d still call for them. They wouldn’t break like they used to, they’d slowly dissolve into dust. And maybe, one day, he wouldn’t be handed shields anymore but a companion. A partner to stay by him and keep the horde away if it ever came again. Something permanent.

     He could only hope that day would come, the day when something let Alexander become a companion instead of a shield-giver. 

     Someone permanent.


End file.
